Then comes a drifter, p.4
Then Comes a Drifter, page 4
Zelig worked his jaw like he was going to spit at Gered, thought better about it, and turned away. He grabbed his bike and wheeled it away, cursing his troop to do the same.
More than a few sneers from Gered’s unit followed their retreat.
“Drifter.” Gered turned to her.
“Laramie,” she snapped.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Laramie. Bring your bike.”
He began to wheel his bike across the dirt. She followed suit with the rest of the unit. Tires ground across the dirt as they headed around the main tower where more long buildings spread out. The large four painted on the side of their home barrack even looked vaguely welcoming.
Double garage doors took up the bottom floor. A staircase ran from the ground up to a broad door off a long porch.
Dayo punched in the lock combination and the left garage door raised. The unit began to wheel their bikes in. The right side of the garage stood empty, enough room for the thirteen bikes from Unit Five not back from route yet.
“Did you know that would happen?” Gioia’s soft question held him back a moment.
He regarded her from the corner of his eye. She stared at Laramie, her barely-masked nausea since the moment they’d picked up the drifter finally fading with the threat of Rosche gone.
He shrugged. “Good thing it did.”
Gioia tipped a look at him, the faint smile on her lips that almost made him soften. But he couldn’t. Not out in the open. Not around anyone else. Not with Rosche likely watching them from one of the upper levels of the tower. The warlord liked to keep an eye on things.
He pushed his motorcycle into the garage, past the drifter who hung back at the entrance, a first hint of unsurety around her.
“Put your bike over here.” Gered pointed to the back corner of the garage. “We’ll get you a better one later.”
“What’s wrong with mine?” Laramie lifted an eyebrow.
“Too bulky.”
Her shoulders stiffened and ire flushed her face. He matched her glare, daring her to make an argument. She raised her chin and pushed her bike over where he’d indicated.
“Gioia, show her where she goes.” Gered turned away. Gioia would take care of the drifter and make sure no one would try to mess with her.
Gioia flashed a tight-lipped smile at him and stepped over to Laramie. She knew what he was doing. “Grab whatever you need to from your bags and follow me.”
Laramie detached the right saddlebag from the bike, tucked it under her arm, and followed Gioia toward the far end of the garage where more steps led up to another door and disappeared inside.
“What’s this, the third time you’ve pissed Zelig off this month?” Dayo’s laugh jerked his attention back.
He shrugged. Zelig blustered and sneered, but there was no real threat behind him. “Am I supposed to be scared?”
Dayo scoffed. “No. But he’s got a look like he might do something stupid one of these days.”
Gered arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you cared so much.”
“Yeah.” Dayo shrugged carelessly. “But if you’re gone, that means I might have to take over Four and that sounds like too much work.”
A grin twitched as he pulled his gloves off and tossed them into the helmet. “I’m gonna go for the official debrief with Rosche. Save me a drink,” he called over his shoulder as he headed out of the garage, missing Dayo’s return gesture.
Out in the dusky twilight, the air had cooled marginally. Gered rolled his shoulders to loosen them up as he stuck hands in his jacket pockets. A few riders from other units gave him a wider berth, nods of respect which he ignored.
Once he’d made the report, he’d go make sure the drifter was settled in and try to figure out what it was about her that unsettled him so much.
Chapter 6
Laramie followed Gioia into a wide room filled with couches and chairs. A bar divided it from what was supposed to be a kitchen, but looked more like storage space for as much alcohol as the inhabitants could cram in. Several hallways opened off the main room, and Gioia headed for the furthest to the left.
“You’ll bunk up with me.” She halted at the second door on the right. A rusty keypad sat to the left of the door. “Code’s eight-three-five.” She punched in the numbers and the door swung open.
“I’m assuming I don’t share that around?” Laramie asked wryly.
A bitter smile twisted Gioia’s face. “Not unless you want some unwelcome visitors.”
She flipped on the light revealing a narrow room with two beds against opposite walls, a closet missing a door, and a dresser listing to the side.
“Charming.” Laramie stepped inside.
“Yeah.” Gioia ditched her jacket and gloves. A tattoo wound around her left wrist, but she tucked her hands in her back pockets, obscuring it from view. “But better than the alternative.” Her jaw hardened for a moment. “Hope you don’t mind. The other roommate option is Corinne, and there’s a reason we don’t share. Girl’s certifiable.”
Laramie didn’t remember seeing another woman in either unit. “How many women are there in the gangs?”
“If you make it in? Three.” Gioia pointed to the bunk against the opposite wall. “You can take that one. I’ll dig up some blankets from somewhere.”
“I can use my bedroll for right now.” She rubbed her side. Punching Rosche was like hitting a brick wall. But his hits had been like the brick wall punching back. I’m going to have some bruises.
Gioia nodded. “That’ll work. Showers are downstairs. We have our separate one from the rest of the unit. Meals are in the tower’s mess hall. We have our own table down there as well.”
“You share with another unit?” Laramie asked. The riders hadn’t taken up any space on the empty side of the garage.
“Yeah, we’re Unit Four, and we split with Five. They’re out on route right now. We usually don’t cross paths too often since we’re on alternating rotations.”
“What’s my role in all this?” Laramie set her pack on the bed. It creaked in response.
“Training. There’s a few other recruits right now, so you’ll join in with them. Though you seem a step above them already.”
“Conscripts?” Laramie bit back.
Gioia leaned against the wall. “Some really are volunteers. Poor boys from some of the towns who think it’s a better life up here. Which it might be since they’ll get three meals a day and don’t have to live under our boots anymore.”
“Sounds like you’re not really a fan.” Laramie decided against sitting on the bed. It looked like it might collapse out of spite.
Gioia shrugged a shoulder. “You might say that. Come on, got a few more things to show you around here. Training starts at five hundred hours, so you should probably turn in early tonight.”
“Can’t wait.” Laramie tossed her sunglasses on the bed and loosened her dust scarf.
Gioia gave something a little closer to a real smile. “I know it sucks, but I’m glad you made it here instead of the command tower.” Her throat bobbed. “But I think you’ll be all right. You shouldn’t have a problem with most of Four, but when Five comes around, you might have to be more careful.”
She tilted her head to the door and led the way back out. The main room had been overtaken by most of the unit. They’d shucked jackets and lounged about the couches and chairs, beers in hand. The steady buzz of conversation didn’t halt as Gioia and Laramie entered.
A movement in Laramie’s periphery announced Gered. Without the jacket and gloves, a snake tattoo wrapped itself around his left wrist, mouth parted wide as it stretched toward his thumb.
A twinge of alarm prodded Laramie as she noted dark spirals on left wrists around the room, just like Rosche.
“He really takes the whole imitation thing seriously, doesn’t he?” Laramie nodded toward the tattoo.
“Unity in identity makes us stronger,” Gered intoned.
“Sounds completely sane.” Laramie tucked her hands into her jacket pockets.
Gered scoffed a humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t repeat that outside. Here.” He extended her gun.
She took it, sliding the magazine free and checking the bullets inside. All there. A tug at the slide revealed the last bullet still chambered. It clicked back in place, and she holstered it in the back of her belt.
“Knives?” She raised an eyebrow at him.
He held them out, snatching his hand back as she took them as if glad to be free of their touch.
“Don’t go anywhere without those. Don’t hesitate to pull the trigger. Only the tough survive here.”
She’d begun to think his facial muscles were broken with the lack of emotion he showed, but his eyes made up for it now that she could see them. Gray with speckles of blue around the iris, they burned into her as if trying to extract a promise. Her heart rammed into her chest. It had been a long time since she’d seen scraps of blue in someone’s eyes.
Gray and blue eyes. He probably had blond hair under the dye. All the marks of the Itan. Once her people. Now wiped out except for the one in front of her, hidden under the shadow of the Barracks.
She didn’t have to tip her head back very much to meet those gray eyes. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m counting on it. Remember, if you dust anything up, it’s on me.” It didn’t sound like a threat so much as a promise that he would come after her if anything happened.
She slid her knives into the sheaths with a satisfying hiss of steel on leather. “Well then, guess I better learn the rules.”
Chapter 7
You’d think if he’s going to keep us here, he might spring for some decent beer.” Gered crushed the can and threw it at the garbage.
“You going to bring that up at the next meeting?” Dayo tipped a drink.
Gered leaned forward on the table and rubbed his eyes before reaching for another can. “Sure.”
Dayo chuckled as he propped his boots up on the table. They had the back common room to themselves. The riders in there had cleared out as soon as he and Dayo entered with their beer.
“Still, it’s not that bad.” He regarded the beer in his hand. “Once you get to the fourth or fifth one.”
Gered rubbed his eyes again. “That many? We’re behind.” The can opened with a hiss of releasing pressure. Dayo laughed.
The bitter taste of another drink cascaded over his tongue. He scraped a hand over his dyed hair and sighed.
“All right over there?”
Gered threw himself back into the chair. It creaked against his sudden weight.
“Just this dusting place.” Same as it always was.
Five years of fighting, and scrapping, and killing all to maintain some sort of hierarchy Rosche didn’t care about, and got too much amusement out of watching between keeping the gangs in line with motivational words or harsh punishments.
Gered did enough to keep Four solidly above the middle of the pack of thirty units. But not too much so Rosche started to care and remember what exactly he could do. Too low, and his unit would get next to nothing. But he’d give anything to be anywhere else.
“Regrets about our catch today?” Dayo lifted an eyebrow.
Gered slowly shook his head. He’d warned her. That’s all he could do. She’d surprised him with the rest, and the hits she’d landed on Rosche hadn’t exactly been love taps either.
“You did what you could, kamé.”
“Yeah, well, go enjoy a night out on the town on me then.” Gered slammed his beer down harder than he meant to.
“Maybe I will instead of getting drunk in here with your morbid ass.” Dayo took out his knife and began to spin it on the table.
Gered’s shoulders tensed. He hated knives. Even holding the drifter’s had been bad enough. Dayo knew better. He must be getting drunk.
“Holding you back again, am I?” He forced himself to relax. He wasn’t thirteen and bleeding all over his shirt anymore.
“Always.” Dayo smirked. He spun the knife again. It rattled against the uneven boards. Gered swallowed hard.
“Dust! Sorry.” Dayo slammed his hand down on the knife and yanked it away.
Gered forced a smile and a shrug, not trusting his voice to say it didn’t bother him. “So what’s your bet?”
Dayo wiped beer from the corner of his mouth after he drank. “What?” He squinted a little.
“On if the drifter will make it. I know everyone else has made theirs.” Gered eased back further into the chair.
“I don’t need to bet. She’ll make it. You?”
Gered drank again. Not too much. Never too much. It left a body helpless to fight. Just enough to blur the world comfortably around the edges.
There was something about her that set him on edge. And it might be the dusky blonde hair, and gray-blue eyes.
But he didn’t doubt she could make it. She’d somehow survived the Tlengin’s war on the Itan, and he already knew Rosche wasn’t any worse than the raiders.
“Same,” he finally said. “You see her band?”
The Aclar travelers roved in tight knit groups, never really leaving their caravans, or associating with those outside their societies. How the drifter claimed ties was anyone’s guess.
Dayo’s face hardened and his can crinkled under sudden pressure. “Yeah.”
“That going to bother you?”
Dayo drained half his can in one draft. “No. I’ve no idea how or why she has a traveler band, but maybe her family cares more than to sell her off to a gang.”
An apology hovered on Gered’s tongue. There was an unspoken rule between them to not bring up lives before the gangs. But he knew it had bothered Dayo to see the band. Like it unsettled him to see Itan features for the first time in years. He just didn’t feel like dealing with any difficulty between his lieutenant and the drifter.
He tossed back the last few gulps of beer, swallowing the apology with it. “Think I’m done. Harlan tracked me down at dinner to give a lesson to the trainees tomorrow since we’ll still be in.”
“Better you than me. Go do Unit Four proud.”
Gered tossed the can at Dayo’s head. Dayo snickered as it sailed harmlessly past.
“Don’t wake me up when you come in,” Gered warned.
“What if I’m feeling cuddly?”
Gered flipped him off and stood. Dayo’s laugh followed him down to their shared room. The keypad blurred momentarily before steadying.
The door clicked shut behind him and he leaned against the frame, checking every corner of the bare room out of instinct. Never turn your back on an unchecked room. The rule echoed every time he stepped through a door.
He pushed away from the wall and undid his holsters, setting one handgun on the bed, the other went on the pile of his jacket. Boots went next. The room was one of the few with a built-in sink. He splashed water over his face and arms, not feeling like staggering downstairs for a shower right then.
Never-ending dust flaked off his skin, even though he’d washed since they’d been back. He wished the snake tattoo rinsed off as easily. Balling the towel in his hands, he sighed again. Forget about the dusting girl already. There’s nothing else I can do to help. There’s never anything else I can do.
Crawling wearily into bed, he slid the pistol under his pillow and rolled on his side, back to the wall. Maybe he’d even drunk enough to sleep through the night.
~
Gered woke to Dayo’s raucous snores. The lieutenant had made it far enough to take off his boots, sprawling across the blankets on his bed against the opposite wall. Shaking his head, Gered gathered up clean clothes and headed out to the showers.
Dayo still hadn’t moved by the time he got back. Gered didn’t bother with his jacket, buckling on his guns and grabbing his sunglasses before heading out. His long sleeve shirt covered down to his wrists, but still couldn’t cover the entire tattoo. He’d hate it until the day he died.
A few of his unit were still in the mess hall. Gioia met his gaze and offered a small smile. He ignored it with an effort and picked up a water bottle and nutrient bar and headed back outside. Harlan had asked him to be out at the range at ten hundred hours. He had about five minutes to get there.
He made his way to the smaller gates on the northern side where the ranges were set up a half mile from the walls. The sharp crack of handguns announced he was already late, so he slowed his pace and started on the nutrient bar.
Harlan stood behind the line of seven recruits, hands braced on hips, watching target practice. Gered strolled up beside him, adjusting his sunglasses on his nose. He took a long drink of water and assessed the line.
“Looks like you got one or two decent ones out here.”
“Yeah, one or two is right.” Harlan shook his head and crossed meaty arms over his broad chest. “What am I supposed to do with these scrawny kids?” He half turned to Gered as if he had the magic solution.
Scrawny. An apt enough description for three of the younger recruits. They must have come from some of the townships. Another had been caught slumming along the border, and the other two in the group had come in looking for the gangs. And then there was the drifter.
Laramie, as she’d informed him last night. She stood relaxed, hitting her target with impressive accuracy.
“Heard you brought that one in yesterday.” Harlan jerked his chin at her.
“How’s she doing?” Gered kept his voice disinterested.
“Not bad.” That from Harlan was practically a recommendation to join the nearest unit. “Better than this shrimp is. Hey! How many times have I told you to fix those feet?” Harlan yelled at a young boy of no more than sixteen, whose arms looked barely strong enough to hold up the handgun.
“You’re right. I can’t watch this anymore.” Gered set the water bottle on the ground and strode over to the young boy.
“You trying to hit yourself with the recoil?” he snapped.
The boy bolted to attention, eyes wide as he looked up at Gered. His throat bobbed in a nervous gulp. Gered rolled his eyes behind the glasses. Doing the bare minimum still didn’t diminish his reputation among the gangs. That was something he was fine with. Meant less work all around.
